Masquerade
by Queen-Akasha
Summary: Cold, alone, and plagued by nightmares, the Phantom must decide if he is ready to give up the object of his affection after all. But will he and his love be accepted? Rating may be too high, but I like to err on the side of caution. :)
1. First Movement

**A.N:** I decided to base the layout of this story on a symphony, so instead of having "Chapter 1", "Chapter 2", etc., it will be in "movements", i.e. "First Movement", "Second Movement" and so forth. The first movement of a symphony generally has weighty content and moves very quickly. With this in mind, I attempted to catch that feeling in the style of my writing. If I did it write, it should sound panicky and disjointed.

The seventh paragraph and what it implies is what got this story kicked off another website...something I am both mad at and proud of. :) I think it was an overreaction on their part...what do you think? ;)

**First Movement**

For the third time that week, he awoke with tears streaming down his face. He lay still, in his accustomed darkness, the only sound to keep him company the measured beating of his own heart. Broken and shattered-wonder that it still beat at all…or was that just being over-dramatic?

The darkness, which had been his friend for all of his solitary existence, now seemed to mock him. He loathed it, hated it, cursed it and needed it. In the darkness, he did not have to face himself, after all…but the darkness brought sleep, and sleep brought dreams, and dreams…

DAMN IT.

Dreams he had expected, oh yes, nightmares. This was nothing new, they were always there, always there, lurking in the pit, the abyss, the sickness in his mind. But this was wholly different, this was something new, this was unexpected.

Reaching out in the darkness, Erik found the oil lamp without much trouble. Removing the glass portion, he lit the wick. A small flame of light burst into existence, and Erik breathed in deeply, trying to steady himself.

He tried to bring to his mind images of her…sights, sounds, touch…how her hands caressed his scarred flesh, her gentleness. Endless nights, her voice soaring as his fingers danced across the piano. In the end…she kissed him, soft, tender lips, eyes open and unafraid. The warmth of her body as she pressed against him and a sharp intake of breath…

Raoul, chained and dripping, small droplets of cold water running down his broad chest, muscles bulging as he tried to wrench free. Blue eyes flashing angrily through locks of blonde hair, plastered to his face. Picture brushing loose strands back, running a thumb lightly across his strong, angry jaw…

NO

Erik slammed his hand angrily on top of the flame. It licked and scorched the palm of his hand greedily for a few moments, before finally sputtering and dying. Erik lifted his hand, and turning his palm over he dug his fingers deeply into the wound that had not had a chance to heal. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he knew that something had to be done.

He had expected to mourn the loss Christine, expected her to haunt his dreams, expected…anything but this. But even that was a lie. The idea was always there, had been since the first time Raoul had entered the opera house, but he smothered it, cloaked it in jealousy and rage, two emotions he knew very well. His obsession with the young man was so much easier to explain then, easier to justify.

But then, the moment of truth. As Christine kissed him, it should have been the happiest moment of his life. But then that strangled cry of rage from Raoul, and as Erik's distracted eyes flicked over to him…and he felt...

Desire, lust, craving, magnetism…while Raoul only stared at him accusingly, full of hate. Revulsion…at himself, confusion, utter confusion, and he broke from Christine. Panting, tears springing unbidden to his eyes…this is madness…Quick glance to Raoul.

_Take her. Forgive me…forget all of this._

As if in a dream, stumbling steps backwards.

_Leave me alone, forget all you've seen_. _Go, now, don't let them find you. Take the boat, swear to me NEVER to tell._

Sickening, sinking feeling as he watched Christine run to Raoul.

_Forget what you know of the angel in hell…_

Finally free, Raoul wrapped his arms tightly around Christine, burying his head into her mane of hair, kissing the nape of her neck-

_GO NOW! GO NOW, AND LEAVE ME!_

Retreat, to his haven, his safe place. Legs quivering, finally giving out beneath him. Out of habit, Erik reached for his music box. The monkey began to play, grinning knowingly at him…eerily comforting, and Erik found himself singing in a soft voice, lyrics that seemed to fit only too well…

_Masquerade, paper faces on parade, masquerade…hide your face so the world will never find you…_

A small noise…Christine. He looked at her, tears streaming down his face…she innocently placed her ring in his hand. So kind, so sweet…she was…

_Christine, I love you_.

He whispered, as if saying the words would make it true…and at one point, it had been, yes, no doubt. But no more.

Jumping up, he ran out into the main chamber. He watched as Raoul and Christine disappeared around the bend, keeping his eyes on Raoul until the last.

_You alone…_

It's over.

Erik ground his teeth. "It's NOT over," he whispered, hunched over, clutching the sides of his head. "And it never will be. Unless…"

He knew it was impossible, he knew it was foolish…but he had to try. He couldn't continue on like this…if he kept going in this way, the only paths that lay before him were madness…or death. And he sure as hell was not giving up without a fight.


	2. Second Movement

**A.N:** I chose the Sonata form for my second movement. This usually entails contrast between two or more themes and/or tonalities. I tried to do this by using two mediums, written correspondence and normal prose.

**Second Movement -Sonata**

_November 9, 1871_

_My dear Vicomte,_

_No doubt you are surprised to hear from me once again. How is dear Christine? I do hope she is well. I would ask that you give her my regards, but I suppose that you will not be overly disposed to grant my request, given the history between you and I._

_The reason for this letter is that I wish to come to terms with certain injustices I have committed against you in the recent past. I wish to arrange a meeting, just the two of us, so that we may talk of the past, the present, and the future. I shall send a carriage to your estate one week from today, at precisely eight in the evening. It shall take you to a neutral location where we can discuss things in peace. I request that you arrive unaccompanied. I shall know if you are being followed. What I have to say is for your ears and yours alone._

_I remain, your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

Erik watched the ink dry slowly on the parchment, its wet sheen slowly but surly turning dull and dark. When it had finished, he carefully folded the parchment and slipped it into a small envelope. Next, he dripped a pool of red wax over the back of the envelope, and stamped it with that familiar seal, the blood-red skull grinning almost mockingly. Involuntarily, Erik felt a shudder pass through his bodyClosing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and willed his trembling hands to be still.

Outside, the boy was waiting. Erik paid him the usual sum, both for his service and for his silence. The boy took the letter, and after a few whispered instructions, set off to deliver it to its final destination. The wheels were set in motion, the deed begun, and Erik felt almost giddy. It was literally out of his hands now. Now all that remained was to wait, and to watch, two things that Erik knew how to do only too well.

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When the boy came to the doorstep of Raoul's estate at such a late hour, part of him knew the reason, even before the child handed him the letter with that damnable grinning skull seal on it. The boy turned to go, but Raoul called him back sharply.

"You, boy…wait here a moment," he said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice.

"Please pardon, monsieur, but my instructions were…" the boy began, edging towards the door.

"Whatever he's paying, I'll double it," Raoul snapped impatiently. The boy's eyes lit up, as Raoul knew they would. The boy stopped where he was, and stood at attention, looking at Raoul expectantly.

Raoul tore into the letter, and read it quickly, then re-read it, more slowly this time, its words burning. Yes, that was the familiar script, the customary ending, no doubt it was _him_. Damn it all to hell…would he never just…disappear?

Raoul sat down at his desk, and whisked out a sheet of paper. Dipping his pen into its ink well, he began to hastily jot down a reply. To hell with formality.

_O.G, Phantom, or whatever the hell your name is…I want to make one thing very clear. I shall play along with whatever twisted game you have in mind, but I want you to understand one thing. This is the end of it. If you ever attempt to contact Christine, I will not hesitate to have you killed. She, in her womanly weakness may have some feelings of pity for you, but I assure you I suffer from no such emotions. I know she gave you the engagement ring…I want it returned. This is not a negotiation._

Raoul folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope, and gave it to the boy, along with a large bag of coins. The young man happily pocketed the money, and took of running into the night. Raoul thought briefly of having him followed, but decided that it would be wiser to wait. There was no rush, after all, the Phantom would soon come to him. And regardless of the promise he had made in the letter, Raoul planned on being prepared. He would not let that monster slip away again.

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A hesitant rapping on the door brought Erik out of his half-dazed state. He shook himself grumpily, and warily made his way to the door. He looked out the window beside it, and snarled in a sudden fury when he saw the boy standing outside. He wrenched open the door, and dragged the frightened boy inside before slamming the door behind him.

"What in the HELL do you think you are doing?" he growled, as menacingly as possible. "I believe I made my instructions _very_ clear. Yet what do I see standing here before me? A little fool who decided to disregard said instructions, and tempt my wrath by returning here uninvited. Tell me, little fool, why I should not string you up by your thumbs and hang you over the edge of my balcony?"

The boy had turned several different shades of white during this tirade, each paler than the one before it. When the angry man before him finished his ranting, the boy spoke up timidly,

"P-please, m-monsieur. He p-paid m-me g-good money, and I thought-" At those words, Erik's eyes narrowed and the boy finished hurriedly, "H-he also g-gave me th-this…" the boy held out the letter with a trembling hand.

Erik's eyes fell upon the dancing piece of paper, and the edge of his mouth twitched ever so slightly. He snatched the letter from the boy, who jumped backwards a couple of steps as the masked figure came near to him. Erik glared at the boy for a few seconds, then snorted and grabbed the boy's right hand. The boy let out a strangled shriek that quickly died as Erik enfolded another purse of money into the boy's hand.

"Go now," he told the lad sternly, "And don't come back."

The boy didn't need to be told twice. He was out the door like a shot, and down the street and out of sight before Erik could count to ten. Erik watched him go, then shut the door and locked it. He had no fear that the boy would reveal his presence, after all Erik had paid him a small fortune. Erik also knew that the boy most definitely would not return, which was all for the best as he had been entirely too quick to disregard the orders given to him.

"And if there is one thing I cannot stand," Erik mused to himself aloud, "It is someone who fails to follow orders." The comical faces of Richard and Firman as they read one of his letters flashed through his mind, and he chuckled at the memory. Erik tore open the letter from Raoul and read it. For a moment, he was silent.

"Ah, so angry my dear Vicomte," Erik whispered. "Such fury…but then, fury is akin to passion, is it not?" A smile played across Erik's lips. "And you need have no worries for Christine. But as for the ring…" Erik reached into his pocket. His fingers caressed the beautiful piece of jewelry as he thought. "Perhaps an agreement can be reached in that regard," Erik pulled out the ring, and slipped it on his little finger. He smiled. "Yes, I believe it will."


End file.
